


On Friendship and Dead Kittens

by The Little MerBucky (blue_pointer)



Series: Death Comes Calling [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, California vs. New York, Civil Rights Movement, Dark Fantasy, Ex-Boyfriends, Harlem, M/M, Park Avenue, Podfic Welcome, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Stucky - Freeform, Sylvia's, The Apollo Theater, Unhealthy Relationships, Winter Falcon, and pretend that imminent death and dismemberment is romantic, batshit crazy steve, codependent Bucky, for those we've loved and lost, impending winteriron, it's only stony if you squint really hard, lovers' quarrels, memories of winteriron, punching cops and scaring sharks are hobbies, traveling in sunlight means ILU, uncomfortable, unhealthy stucky, vampire brooklyn boys, werewolf off-screen, when you cheat on your bf with a mortal, when your boyfriend be crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 22:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10648986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/pseuds/The%20Little%20MerBucky
Summary: When a fight with Steve leaves Bucky more dead than alive, Sam to the rescue. Steve returns home after a night of unsuccessfully stalking Tony to stake his claim to Bucky, who's not allowed to love other people. Risking everything, Bucky sneaks out of the house by day to warn Tony that his life is in danger.





	On Friendship and Dead Kittens

**Author's Note:**

> Dead kittens is an analogy. There are no cats of any age, either dead or alive in this chapter. Praise Bast.

Sam’s main home was in Oakland. But he kept places in D.C. and New York. When Bucky texted him that evening, Sam flew straight to his apartment in Greenpoint. Bucky was too weak even to leave the house. Sam had to come over and haul him out of the hole. “Sorry for this,” Bucky croaked, his wizened, skeletal hands clinging weakly to Sam’s strong ones.

“How am I gonna leave you here like this? Who does that? Oh, right. Your mate. ‘Happy 90th Anniversary, honey. I’m leaving you half dead in this hole as punishment for that thing you didn’t know you did.’”

Bucky took a long swig of the cow’s blood Sam had brought in. It made him feel greasy and stupid, but it helped. “He’s your master, too,” Bucky reminded him.

“First off, don’t ever use that word with me again," Sam said. “Second, it was your blood saved my life that day. Not his.”

Sam remembered the first time he’d ever seen Bucky. He was bending over Sam to give him a hand up, and with the flickering street light behind him, he looked like a hippie angel, long straight hair, John Lennon sunglasses, carved sandalwood peace sign hung around his neck. White dudes were rare at civil rights demonstrations. That night the police had broken the line, started beating brothers left and right with their billy clubs. When Sam watched Bucky break a cop’s nose and send him flying into the grass with just a flick of his finger, he knew it was love. Less idealistic reasons why, he didn’t notice until later: the striped bell bottoms so tight they could have been painted on. The deathly pale chest, the sculpt of muscle more marble statue than man, with wiry, dark hair strewn across as though by the artist’s afterthought.  

Bucky’s voice drew Sam back to the present. “Your movement needed you.”

“Call it what you want.” Sam held out a second packet to Bucky. “Pig’s blood.” Bucky made a face, but he took it. It was better than slowly disintegrating here alone in their apartment. “All I know is, your blood made me immortal, not his."

Bucky couldn’t help a little smile. “I always thought you were beautiful.”

“Ohhh, here we go." But Sam smirked. It was like listening to your favorite grandpa story, told over and over again. 

“Even when you were angry, your smile was sunlight.” Bucky laughed at his own sentimentality. “And rainbows.”

“Great, so it turned you to ashes, but had a pretty light show at the end.”

Bucky reached out to cup his cheek. “Something like that.”

Sam leaned in, and Bucky knew he was going to kiss him, so he quickly drank the rest of the pig’s blood. Changed the subject. “We met James Baldwin and Langston Hughes, once.”

Seeing the packet was empty, Sam handed him another one. Feeding like this was almost clinical. “You know vampires aren’t supposed to go senile, right? I think you told me that story 100 times.” Sam snorted. “Surprised he let ‘em live.”

“It was before we were turned,” Bucky said. He tried not to be too defensive of Steve, but old habits died hard.

“Hard to believe there was ever a time that little pipsqueak wasn’t a psychotic monster straight outta Satan’s butthole.”

“Sam.” Joking was all well and good, but sometimes it went too far. If Steve ever heard him talking like this, it would end in a fight. And the little pipsqueak happened to be more powerful than both of them put together.

“You can’t tell me not to be angry about this,” he told Bucky, trading his empty packet for a fresh one again. “Partners are supposed to take care of each other, not maim and leave each other for dead.”

“He brought me home,” Bucky pointed out. “If he was really the monster you say he is, he could have left me there for the sun.”

Sam gave him a look. “Ever hear of a dude named Prometheus? Leaving you there would have put you out of your misery. That’s not his style.”

“Honest, I think he’s over his temper tantrum now.” Bucky shrugged, uncomfortable with how easily Sam judged Steve.

Sam shook his head. “This is one of those battered women things where I’m not gonna convince you leaving him is for your own good, isn’t it?”

“It was a mistake,” Bucky said, reaching for his bottled water to wash the taste of dead blood out of his mouth. “He thought I was breaking my promise. I think he understands now.” He paused. “I hope.” It wasn’t as if they’d been able to talk about it afterward, falling into their respective daytime comas before Bucky regained his ability to speak.

Sam busied himself gathering up the empty blood bags, bringing everything back together, packing up like he was leaving. But he clearly had a lot more to say about this subject. “Come back to California with me,” he said suddenly, looking up from his duffle bag. A tentative smile hovered around his lips. “We’ll go swimming in the Pacific, scare the sharks.”

Bucky’s smile was regretful. “Even if I did, I’d have to tell him where I was.”

“So do it.” Sam sat down in the chair across from him. “Leave him a note, text him, call him, but then let’s go. Let me get you out of New York, at least until this is over.” 

That hurt Bucky to think about. ‘Until this is over.’ That poor boy’s life. Now that he knew it was over, Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was like knowing a kitten was about to be hit by a car. He couldn’t seem to tear himself away. Kept trying to think of a way he could save him.

“I know that look,” Sam said. “Don’t do this, man.” Bucky looked up at Sam, but he didn’t contradict him. “Look, I love mortals as much as you do, but he’ll kill you next time. You know he will.”

Bucky smiled hesitantly. “He wouldn’t kill me,” he said. “He loves me too much.”

Sam just looked at him, unhappy, tight-lipped. That look said everything. “You’re looking almost human now. Wanna head uptown? See if you can get some fresh? I’ve been craving Sylvia’s.”

Bucky smiled easily at that. “Soul food sounds good.” They took the A train. Sam had pig’s feet, collard greens, and mac ‘n cheese, followed by vanilla pudding. Bucky had chicken and waffles, extra chicken.

“Damn that’s good!” Sam declared, licking his fingers clean. “I’m getting two to-go boxes.”

“You know I’m happy to ship you some whenever you get a craving,” Bucky said, leaning his cheek on his hand, just watching him. Sam was such a beautiful person, inside and out. His soul was the color of fresh spring grass, sprinkled with buttercups. He was the sort of person you could fall in love with. But Steve owned Bucky’s heart. It had never been his to give.

Sam looked down at his empty plate. “That sounds like you don’t want me to come out and visit.”

“‘Course I do.” Bucky reached out and brushed Sam’s fingers with his own. “I just meant...in case you didn’t want to make the trip.”

Sam looked deep into his eyes. It was a promise. “For you, I’ll always make the trip. Come back with me,” he asked again. “The fresh air’ll be good for you.”

Bucky smiled, feeling awkward. He looked down at the bones left on his plate, wondering what would happen if he ate them here in public. “I can’t, Sam. I’m sorry. Not just yet.”

“You know you’re welcome with me any time. You know that, right?” Bucky nodded, feeling almost shy. “Because I need you to know it.” Sam was bending down, trying to catch his gaze again. “I need you to remember you have a safe place to go if things get...worse.”

Bucky reached out to squeeze Sam’s hand, looking at him again. “They won’t,” he told him. “Don’t worry.” But Sam didn’t look convinced.

After dinner, they snuck into the Apollo. Bucky was able to feed several times in the men’s room while Sam enjoyed amateur night. “Lot of talent in that room,” he told Bucky as they left.

“There always are,” Bucky said.

“Sometimes I think about focusing on money, get enough together to back more of this fresh talent. God knows Hollywood won't. But it's hard to justify the time fixing the entertainment industry when we’re still getting killed by cops every day.”

“You could put on a spandex suit,” Bucky teased. “Fight race crime by night.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Sam asked. “Pass on the spandex, though. I prefer kevlar. Bullets hurt.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Bucky agreed. “Yeah, I guess the whole masked avenger thing is a little tired.”

“Tell your little friend that,” Sam said. “I hear they’re still finding petty criminals dead in back alleys out here.”

Bucky sighed. “Honest, I prefer that than this obsessive stalking routine. Gets it out of his system faster.”

“Alright, Boy Wonder. Well good luck with that.” They grasped hands, and both went in for a hug.

“Tell him I said hi if you think he can handle it,” Bucky said.

“He’s not as jealous of you as he used to be.” Sam looked apologetic.

“That’s good.” Bucky smiled, sad. They always seemed to be saying goodbye.

Sam got serious again for just a moment. “You text me every day to let me know you’re still alive. No exceptions.”

Bucky’s smile was pained in a different way. “Promise.”

“And stay away from that dead kitten. You know I’m right.”

Bucky wished he could make Sam that promise. But he just couldn’t. “I’ll text you tomorrow. No dead kittens.” But from the way Sam looked back at him, he knew.

 

*

 

“You look nice,” Steve observed, when he came home that morning. Bucky wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a criticism.

“Sam came--”

“I know.” Steve cut him off. “You stink like werewolf jizz.”

Bucky winced. “Steve. Come on.”

“The whole house does. You like him better than me!” Steve accused. It was an old argument.

“That’s not true,” Bucky told him calmly.

“You almost burned for him!” Steve said.

“That’s because you killed him too close to daybreak,” Bucky said.

“But you didn’t have to save him!” Steve’s hands were balled into fists, and he was working himself up to a good fit. “You weren’t supposed to!”

“I know.” Bucky took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry!” Steve’s voice was rising in pitch. “You’re not sorry!”

Bucky couldn’t keep lying to him. It was the right answer, the only answer when they had this argument, but he wouldn’t repeat it. They both knew it was a lie.

“You love him more than me!” Steve mewled, his rage crumbling like limestone.

“That’s not true,” Bucky said. Not a lie.

“It’s true!” Steve’s eyes were welling up. He stamped his foot. “It’s true, and you’re not allowed! You’re not allowed to love no one but me!”

“Stevie,” Bucky sighed. “I love you from the bottom of my heart.”

“Hold me,” Steve said, demandingly, climbing into Bucky’s lap. And he did.

“What’s wrong, Stevie?” Knowing Sam had been here was upsetting, but Bucky sensed there was more to Steve’s tantrum.

“Disappointed,” he told Bucky. “I was gonna kill him tonight since you ruined things yesterday, but he wouldn’t leave the house.” That statement was both terrifying and a relief. And Bucky felt horrible. That boy was going to die because of him. Because he’d tried to do something nice for a stranger.

“I’m sorry, Stevie.” Decades of practice kept Bucky’s true feelings out of his voice.

“Pet me,” Steve whimpered. “I’m sad, Bucky. And hungry.”

Bucky kissed his cheek and stroked his hair. “I wish you wouldn’t wait to eat, Stevie.”

“You know why,” Steve huffed. “It’s your fault. You’re the one who makes me.”

Bucky sighed. It was the old litany. Almost a ritual by now. “Take my blood, then.”

“K.” Steve was vaguely mollified, straddling Bucky’s lap and pressing close. He gripped Bucky’s hair and yanked his head back, licking his adam’s apple.

“Not there,” Bucky said, gently putting his hands on Steve’s waist and trying to move him to one side.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” It was hard to tell from the childish tone of Steve’s voice if he was about to comply or punish Bucky for daring to suggest.

“I love you,” Steve whimpered, sinking his teeth into Bucky’s shoulder. “Scared me yesterday.” Bucky rubbed his back, comforting.

“I’m sorry I scared you. Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

As if to apologize for what he’d done last night, Steve fed gently, taking only half of the blood Bucky had drunk that night. After, he lapped the wound until it closed, hips rocking slowly against Bucky, pressing his hard length against his navel. “Lie down, Buck.”

And he did. Steve undressed him almost reverently and made love to him with a slow, deliberate passion. He touched Bucky while he was inside him, and all Bucky could think of was the boy in the mansion. His insistence on oral gratification, how hot, how alive his lips had felt on Bucky’s dead flesh.

He tried to sweep those thoughts from his mind, in case Steve saw them. But Steve was far too into their physical coupling to bond. He cried when he came, pillowing his head on Bucky’s chest and weeping bloody tears for nearly an hour afterward.

“Don’t leave me, Buck,” he begged. “You’re all I have.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Bucky promised, rubbing Steve’s bony shoulders. “I love you.”

Steve grabbed one of his hands and held it, tight. “Till the end of the line,” he said, brushing Bucky’s knuckles with his lips.  

“Till the end of the line, pal,” Bucky answered, bending to kiss him, slow and sweet.

 

*

 

After Steve was asleep, Bucky grabbed his coat, hat, and gloves and dug their ancient Remington out of the storage locker. Feeling like he was wading through drying cement, Bucky left Brooklyn for the city, where he slipped his hastily-typed note under the door on Park Avenue. Then he checked into a hotel, where he shoved his clothes into the incinerator, took a quick nap and showered, scrubbing his skin until it bled. Moving more and more slowly, Bucky stole fresh clothes and hid under an aluminum garbage can lid until he was able to hail a cab back to Brooklyn. At home, he tossed the clothes out the first story window, and crawled back into bed with Steve, burrowing into the dirt next to him, naked, like an animal. It was a lot of trouble for a big risk with little chance of reward. And yet, he’d done it.

 

*

 

“What’s this?” Tony asked when Dum-E handed him a yellowed piece of paper he’d picked up god only knew where.

“This appeared in the vestibule in the early hours of the morning, Sir. Slipped under the front door. I thought you might care to read it,” JARVIS explained.

“Come on, buddy. You know I don’t care about junk--mail…” Tony trailed off as he unfolded the paper to find no mass mailing, but a series of letters hammered into the paper by the rusty keys of an antique typewriter.

 

_Do not leave your home after dark._

_Do your traveling by daylight._

_Stay overnight only in private homes. No public spaces, no hotels._

_Do not travel at night, by sea, air, or land. Aeroplanes are not safe. Trains are not safe._

_Please take this seriously._

_Please live._

_Please._

  
“Aeroplanes?” Tony said. But no smart remarks could disguise the goosebumps covering his arms, or the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> A note about ages:
> 
> Steve's childishness is a product of his madness, and has nothing to do with the age at which he was turned (mid-twenties).
> 
> Tony is between 18-20 years of age, he is not a minor; no thanks. 
> 
> Just in case anyone was wondering.


End file.
